Lay Down My Head by the Wayside
by burnmedown
Summary: Clay Spenser is running full-tilt through a pine forest when he realizes something has gone wrong with his life.
1. Chapter 1

Clay Spenser is running full-tilt through a pine forest when he realizes something has gone wrong with his life.

Bravo Team's current mission is relatively simple: hike in through the hills, infiltrate the compound, take out the target, and get back out again without dying. The first part went off without a hitch. There was some contact after the target was eliminated, but that wasn't unexpected. With a few well-placed explosives, Bravo left enough chaos behind them to ensure a reasonable head start back toward the exfil site.

There will be pursuit, but not of the vehicular variety. No real roads run through these hills. The landscape is jagged, and the narrow valleys are choked with brushy pines clustered so closely together that even ATVs aren't a viable option.

The exfil helo is supposed to pick up Bravo in a broad, arid basin on the other side of the hills. Possibly the most hazardous part of exfiltration will be the moment they emerge from the narrow, tree-choked ravine; it offers good cover but poor visibility, and if the enemy combatants somehow manage to circle around and get ahead of Bravo, there's a chance the team will come out into an ambush.

This is a concern primarily because this mission is being undertaken sans ISR. They're not cleared to use drones in the area, meaning there's no feed that HAVOC can use to confirm the path ahead is clear.

As an alternative, Jason has elected to send Clay high so he can make sure they're not running blindly into a shitstorm. This is a logical decision, given that Clay is both a sniper and the fastest guy on Bravo Team.

Or, Clay is realizing, _was_ the fastest guy on Bravo Team … because they aren't even near the end of the valley yet, and it's taking everything he has just to keep up.

Gritting his teeth, Clay pushes through the burn in his legs, the stitch in his side, and tries to think if he's been slacking on conditioning; running less, eating worse, drinking more. He draws a blank, but clearly he's been doing _something _wrong, and he's gonna figure out what as soon as this goddamn mission is over.

All too soon, Jason turns back to signal Clay toward the hill to the west.

With a nod of acknowledgement, Clay detours off through the trees, toward where the sharp slope of the uplift juts straight up toward the sky. The soil is crumbly, littered with dry pine needles and loose pebbles that slide under his feet as he throws his weight forward and starts to scramble upward, heart pounding from the exertion.

He can be exhausted later. Right now, his team needs him to do his damn job.

By the time Clay nears the top of the slope, his breath whistles audibly through his throat, and his legs feel weighted. He has to concentrate hard on lifting his feet high enough so that they don't catch on the bigger rocks that poke up from the soil.

Seriously, _when_ did he get this out of shape? Where did the guy go who broke Jason's records on Green Team?

He has a brief, vivid memory of running, Brian at his side, but it's not the time, so Clay shoves his friend back into the compartmentalized corner of his mind that is maybe the only place on earth where Brian is still alive.

Clay stays just below the ridgeline to avoid silhouetting himself against the still-bright sky. Crouched low, he follows the promontory to its conclusion, expecting at any moment for Jason to ask him what's taking so long, but there's only silence in his ear.

He settles, resting his rifle on a spine of rock, looking through the scope down at the mouth of the ravine where it widens out into the basin. His vantage point is good; the potential ambush site contains little cover beyond the trees. Ignoring the burn in his lungs, Clay forces himself to slow inhale, slow exhale while he scans the entire area, searching for any flicker of movement, anything that looks out of place in the thinning treeline or beyond.

"Bravo One, I'm in position," he says, managing not to sound as out of breath as he feels. "I think we're good. No movement. Everything looks clear from here."

"_Copy. Let's get out of here."_

Clay pushes himself up. "Roger that, Bravo-"

His knees buckle. A wash of static whites his vision.

"Shit," he says blankly, finding himself suddenly sitting on the ground, staring at the fading sunlight gilding the top of the ridge across the canyon.

His knee feels damp. Just the right knee, not both. He touches the fabric. His fingers come away red, and, well, that explains a lot.

It's got to be there somewhere, but Clay can't find it. Knee? Thigh? Where is the damn wound?

"_-Six, report!"_ Jason barks in his ear. Clay flinches. Shit. He must have still been on comms when he went down.

"Got a little bit of a situation here," he says. His voice comes out very calm. "I'm injured, but I don't think it's too bad."

"_Copy, Bravo Six."_ Jason's tone stays neutral. "_What are we talking? Sprain?"_

Clay winces. This isn't gonna go over well. "Uh, negative, One. Think I got shot."

There's a brief pause. "_Got shot in the firefight that ended half an hour ago?"_ Jason asks, sharp-edged.

Clay's first impulse is to get defensive. He tamps it down. "Guess so. Didn't realize till I stopped moving."

Jason lets that go. For now, at least. "_We need to come to you?"_

"Nah, man, I'm ambulatory. I'm good." Clay pushes himself up, waits a beat for the dizziness to ease, and starts downhill, keeping his weight back, half sliding on pine needles and scree.

That odd stitch in his side comes back, a vague, nagging hitch of pain just below his tac vest that twinges a bit sharper when he twists. The pieces click together in his head. He swears quietly.

If he got hit in the side, and the blood has soaked all the way down to his knee…

Well, whatever chance he had of surviving is now gone, because Trent is going to kill him.

At the bottom of the slope, Clay stands, staggers, and has to grab at a tree to stay on his feet. Looking up through the branches confirms that the sky is still pre-sunset blue, but the light seems to be quickly fading, color bleeding out of the edges of the world.

This is going to shit much faster than he expected. He should probably be worried about that.

He makes it from that pine tree to another, and then another and another, but his team isn't yet in sight when his vision goes liquid and he sits down hard against feathery bark.

Clay tries to blink away the blur. He puts his palms flat on the forest floor and pushes up. His arms shake, but nothing else happens.

"Hey, Bravo One," he says into the radio, "I think, um…"

"_Coming to you."_ Jason sounds clipped. Maybe impatient. Angry. Hard to tell with the way sounds are echoing hollowly in Clay's head.

He leans against the pine tree, blinks, and peels back open his eyes to find Trent crouched over him, saying, "Clay, where? Where?"

"Side," Clay mumbles. "I think." His mouth is dry. He's started shivering. He doesn't remember it being this cold.

Someone takes him by the shoulders and eases him down so he's lying flat on the carpet of pine needles. Clay drifts, and when he comes back Trent is saying, "If we'd caught it right away, maybe, but he's already been bleeding for too long."

"Shit." Jason paces a few steps, then turns back. "I figure we've got maybe 30 mikes before they catch up to us. If we don't make it to exfil before then…"

Trent does something to Clay's side. Clay groans, makes a cursory attempt to bat Trent's hand away, but doesn't have the energy to struggle when Sonny pins his wrist to the ground and says, "Uh-uh, Blondie. Let him work."

"If we move him," Trent tells Jason, "he's gonna start bleeding again."

"But if we _don't_ move him…" Ray doesn't finish that sentence. He doesn't need to.

Clay forces his eyelids open and looks at Jason. "How far?" He asks.

Jason opens his mouth, closes it. Even with the world gone blurry, Clay can see the answer written all over Hayes's face. They've already lost too much time.

Unencumbered, the team might still make it. With him slowing them down? They'll die. That can't happen. Not again.

"You're gonna have to leave me," Clay says. Sonny's fingers tighten on his wrist.

"No," Jason states flatly.

"Jace-" Clay struggles to sit up. Sonny pushes his shoulders back down. "Dammit, Jace, listen to me!"

"Spenser, stop talking," Jason snaps.

Clay's face is wet. He gulps in a breath that sounds very much like a sob. "Y'all can still make it. There's no reason for all of us to die."

"There's no reason for _any _of us to die, you got that?" Without waiting for a response, Jason turns away, starts talking to HAVOC about the exfil site: _Negative, we can't get there by then._

Clay is desperately thirsty. His skin prickles with cold sweat. He loses track of the conversation until Jason leans over him and says, "We have to move you now. It's gonna hurt."

It does.

Once they get him upright, Sonny and Ray each sling an arm beneath Clay's shoulders, taking most of his weight. As they haul him along, Sonny mutters a steady stream of complaints about how heavy he is.

Clay opens his eyes, sees nothing but a wash of fading gray, and whispers, "Sonny, is it dark?"

Sonny makes a noise like there's something stuck in his throat. "Yeah, kid. Sun's down."

"Oh," Clay says. Sonny sounds out of breath. The jumbled shards of Clay's thoughts try to tell him that there's no way they're moving fast enough to make it in time, but he closes his eyes and opens them again and there's the helo.

Together, Trent and Sonny and Ray get Clay inside and lay him down while Jason yells something at the pilot. They lift off. Clay watches as Trent puts an IV in his arm. He doesn't feel the needle go in.

The helicopter is loud, but it's a distant sort of loud. Clay lets the thrum vibrate through his bones. There's just enough light for him to make out everyone's faces: Trent, Sonny, Jason, Ray, Brock. They're all here. They're all safe. No one died for him.

Clay's eyes burn. He fights to keep them open, because he isn't ready to not see his team anymore.

Trent leans down, yelling something, hands cupped around Clay's face. It seems important. Clay tries to listen, but he's so tired.

His eyes slide closed and he's gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Spenser has just finished reporting that everything looks clear when he cuts off suddenly, and then there's a startled sound and a thud.

Jason's heart rate skyrockets. Judging by his teammates' expressions, it's a universal reaction. "Bravo Six, you good?"

Nothing.

"Bravo Six, status?"

Silence. Jason grinds his teeth until they ache. "Bravo Six, report!"

"_Got a little bit of a situation here."_ Spenser's voice sounds so normal that the knot in Jason's chest loosens a little, only to tighten back up again when Clay adds, "_I'm injured, but I don't think it's too bad."_

"Copy, Bravo Six. What are we talking? Sprain?" Please let him be mobile. They need to move.

"_Uh, Negative, One. Think I got shot."_

At Jason's side, Trent makes a strangled noise.

Jason closes his eyes. Deep breaths, he tells himself. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

"Got shot in the firefight that ended half an hour ago?"

"_Guess so. Didn't realize till I stopped moving."_

The yelling will have to wait. Right now their focus is on getting the hell out of Dodge. "We need to come to you?"

"_Nah, man, I'm ambulatory. I'm good."_ Spenser seems confident, so Jason lets that stand. When he glances up, the entire team is looking at him.

"We headed to him, boss?" Ray asks.

Jason sighs and leads his team toward the area where Clay should be coming down through the trees. He tells himself it's in the general direction of exfil, anyway, so it makes sense.

After a few minutes that stretch forever, Clay comes back on comms. "_Hey, Bravo One,"_ he says. There's an audible wheeze to his breathing now. "_I think, um…"_

The words slur off into silence. Spenser sounds terrible. Jason is going to kill him.

"Coming to you," Jason says through gritted teeth.

They find him sitting against a pine tree, one leg folded under him, head tilted back, eyes closed. There's blood, a lot of it, but Trent has a hard time finding its source. Clay rouses just long enough to give an answer, then drifts off again as Trent and Sonny lower him to the forest floor.

Jason has to work hard to maintain an acceptable level of anger, because all he really wants to be is worried. Clay Spenser is cocky and stubborn and loyal and talented as hell. He's going to lead his own team one day. He isn't going to bleed out on a bed of pine needles in some godforsaken forest in the ass-end of nowhere.

He wasn't even hurt. How did they not know he was hurt?

Blackburn's voice in his ear snaps Jason back to reality, reminding him that they're being pursued; that no matter how bad Clay looks right now, getting out of here still has to be their top priority.

"Trent," Jason says, "any chance you can get him ambulatory?"

Trent shakes his head without looking up. "Negative. If we'd caught it right away, maybe, but he's already been bleeding for too long."

They have maybe half an hour before they're overrun, and that's if they're lucky.

Jason doesn't even realize he's voiced that thought until Spenser, pale as chalk, looks up at him and croaks, "How far?"

The look on Jason's face must be enough of an answer, because the kid's expression crumples and he whispers, "You're gonna have to leave me."

Ah, _there's_ the anger Jason previously misplaced.

"No," he says. Spenser tries to argue more, but then Blackburn is back in Jason's ear asking about the exfil site, so he turns his back on the whole pointless conversation and focuses on trying to figure out how to keep his team alive. His _entire_ team, including the annoying little blond shit.

Blackburn says they'll get the helo closer if they can, but that _if_ looms impossibly large. Not much they can do about it but get moving and pray their asses off.

Ray and Sonny get Clay up, haul him along between them. Sonny's quiet litany of muttered complaints might sound casual if not for the fact that his voice is shaking.

This isn't the first time any of them have seen a brother make a terrifyingly rapid transition from 'fine' to 'probably dying,' but it never gets easier to watch.

The sun has dropped behind the hills. The sky to the west is still pale, but under the cover of the trees, the shadows are deepening. Jason trips over a branch an instant before a bullet whizzes over his head.

"Shit!" He ducks and spins, gun up. Can't see anything. Where the hell are they?

"Jace, what do we do?" Ray yells from where he and Sonny have crouched down, Clay clearly unconscious between them.

Another bullet hums overhead, clipping a tree. Neither shot has come especially close to actually hitting anyone. Their pursuers must be firing blind, hoping to get lucky.

Thoughts of trying to hunker down, make a stand, get rejected immediately. They're hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned.

"Keep moving!"

The bullets keep coming, most of them high. One strikes the dirt so close to Brock's feet that he yelps and stumbles. Trent grabs his vest to get him back up.

Bravo Team makes it around a bend and there, like a miracle, is their exfil helo, set down in a clearing that's just barely wide enough.

There's chaos as they get everyone inside. Jason barely breathes until they're high above the hills, letting the darkening landscape fall away beneath them.

That's when he glances down to find that Clay's eyes are open and he's looking at his team, each member in turn, like he's trying to memorize their faces.

Oh, no, kid. No you don't.

Trent leans down, shouting something that Jason can't hear over the thrum of the helicopter, but Spenser's eyes slide closed anyway. At Jason's side, Sonny jerks forward with alarm.

Hand pressed to Clay's neck, Trent looks up and yells, "He's alive. Just unconscious."

He's alive, and he's gonna stay that way. It's the only outcome Jason will accept.

He isn't losing anybody today.

* * *

Clay wakes up in a hospital.

The room is quiet but for distant beeping and the hushed scrape of footfalls receding down a hallway. Clay stares at the ceiling for a while. He's thirsty, his head aches, and his limbs feel like they're made of lead, but all in all he's significantly less dead than expected.

He realizes after a while that he has absolutely no idea where he is or how long it's been since the pine forest and the running and the helicopter. If they ask him the standard questions - _where are you, what day is it_ \- he isn't going to be able to answer.

What he _does_ know, bone-deep, without being certain how he knows it, is that he screwed up somehow, and he's pretty sure people are mad at him about it.

Eventually his thirst gets the better of him, and he gives up rummaging through fuzzy, half-melted memories to look around for someone who can give him water, or ice, or a beer, or something. Anything.

Unfortunately, his room is empty. He gets a sharp little spike of panic upon realizing that, but his guys are safe, aren't they? He remembers them being on the helicopter, doesn't he?

A nurse shows up. She's got gray hair and there are smile lines around her eyes. She gives him ice chips and opens the window blinds so he can see the blue of the sky. He loves her very much.

In the middle of trying to ask the nurse if she knows where his team is, Clay falls back asleep.

The next time he opens his eyes, which must be hours later because the world outside the window is dark, Jason immediately says from his left, "You know the funny thing?"

Clay attempts to swallow past the sandpaper in his throat. He has a feeling that the funny thing is not, in fact, at all funny.

"It wasn't even that bad," Jason continues. "Trent said a ricochet, probably. Didn't come near anything vital. Just left a nice little gash in your side. Clipped a vein. Shouldn't have been a big deal."

The chair creaks as he leans forward.

"The only problem was that you went without treatment for the better part of _a goddamn hour."_

Clay winces. Well, now he remembers why they're mad at him. "Jace," he croaks.

Jason ignores him. "And none of us have the right blood type to donate to you, so we couldn't do a damn thing but sit in that helicopter and watch you try to finish bleeding out."

"_Jace!"_ The attempt at raising his voice leaves Clay coughing. Jason huffs and scoots forward to stick a cup of water with a straw under Clay's mouth, helping him drink but looking annoyed about it the entire time.

Clay settles back against the pillows, squinting against the way the dim light ramps up his dull headache. "Jace," he says, voice stronger but still hoarse, "I swear to God I had no idea."

Jason rubs his chin and looks away. "Yeah, mad as he was at you, Trent told us you might not have. Adrenaline or something."

"He's right. I wouldn't do that. I would have told you."

"So you didn't feel _anything_ off?"

"Well…"

"Hah!"

"I didn't feel like I'd been _shot!"_ He clarifies quickly. "Just … tired. My legs felt kinda dead. I didn't think much of it."

"Yeah, we noticed. Next time you _will_ think much of it, you got that?"

Clay nods, dropping his gaze. He doesn't bother pointing out that their line of work doesn't exactly allow for him to stop and get checked out by a medic every time he feels a little tired. Hayes obviously doesn't want to hear it right now, so Clay makes an attempt to change the subject.

"How'd we get out? I didn't think we'd make it to exfil in time."

Jason's eyebrows scrunch together. He leans forward with the look of a predator that's scented prey. "So you remember all that."

_Shit._ "Uh, yes?"

Hayes nods. "Well, HAVOC was able to move the exfil site closer to us. We cut it close, but it worked out."

"Good," Clay says. "That's good." His eyelids already feel heavy again, but he doesn't want to go back to sleep yet. "How long?"

"You've been out of it for the better part of two days. It was close, kid. By the time we touched down, Trent was having trouble finding your pulse. Pretty sure you took a few years off his life." Jason clears his throat, and Clay glances over to see him staring intensely at the floor, hands laced together in his lap. "Now," Hayes adds, "we're gonna talk about what you said back there."

"Jace, I-"

"You know what? Correction: _I'm_ gonna talk about what you said back there, and you're gonna listen."

Clay snaps his mouth shut.

"That self-sacrificing hero bullshit you tried? You don't get to do that. Do you even realize what you were asking of us?" He fixes Clay with a stare so intense that the younger man can't help but look away. "Were we supposed to leave you there alive so you could get captured and tortured for God knows how long, or were we supposed to just execute you before we left?"

"Uh," Clay says eloquently.

Jason's glare sharpens. Clay suddenly feels sorry for Emma and Mikey. "In my defense, I wasn't really thinking straight at the time." When the glare doesn't soften, he adds hopefully, "I'm sorry?"

Jason abruptly scrubs both hands over his face. "You know, when the time came to draft our new team member, Ray wanted to pick you. He was damn persistent about it, in fact. Me, on the other hand, I kept trying to come up with reasons not to. You know what I finally told him? I didn't want to pick you because you were a true believer, and true believers get themselves killed."

Clay opens his mouth. He closes it again.

"I have never regretted choosing you," Jason says. "But what I need you to do, Spenser, is keep proving that I was wrong when I said that. You understand?"

Clay nods. Jason holds his gaze for a moment, then exhales and gives a short nod of his own.

The smart thing to do would be to let it go at that, to just accept the lecture and shut up, but Clay's thoughts are so fuzzy he's pretty sure his neurons are currently made of cotton candy, and before he knows it his mouth is saying, "Jace, I really didn't want to die. I just … I couldn't…" He coughs to try to cover the embarrassing wobble in his voice. "Last time I got shot, Adam died because of it. I guess that hit me harder than I realized, and all I could think was that I couldn't face it again. I'm sorry."

Hayes sighs. Some of the tension bleeds out of his posture. "Adam's death wasn't on you. I blamed myself for it too. Maybe we all did a little. But at the end of the day, he died because of some asshole with an S-vest. And the way you honor him, it's not by doing what you tried to do back in that forest. It's by _living._ That's what he'd want."

"Funny. That's a lot like what Ray said to me right afterward."

"Yeah, well, Ray's a smart guy. We should probably both listen to him more often." Jason smiles then, eyes crinkling, and Clay feels like something heavy has lifted off his chest. The rush of relief leaves him dizzy and tired, which he'd probably be annoyed about if he had the energy.

Jason stands up and pats Clay's shoulder. "Get some more rest, kid. You're gonna need your strength for when Sonny shows up."

Clay groans and sinks lower in the bed, wincing at the dull twinge in his side.

"Yeah, he's _pissed," _Jason says cheerfully.

Of course he is. "And Ray?"

"Pretty sure I saw him working on his notes for the speech he's gonna give you."

"Oh, God."

"He's got an outline and everything. Bullet points."

Yeah. Clay is never living this one down.

Reasoning that nobody can yell at him so long as he's not conscious to hear it, he goes back to sleep.

(the end)


End file.
